


The Leash Doesn't Make You

by implicated2



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Animal Play, D/s, F/M, Ficlet, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/implicated2/pseuds/implicated2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a Warehouse agent, a Warehouse doctor, and Cesar Millan's leash.</p>
<p>For the Kink Bingo "animal play" square.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Leash Doesn't Make You

**Author's Note:**

> Gently betaed by killer_quean.

The leash doesn't make you submit, no, no, no. What the leash does is make submission easier. 

Say you've been pacing around Vanessa's hotel room, torn between wanting to roll over and let her have her wonderful way with you and needing to check on the Warehouse because anything could happen there without you. Claudia says she's got it under control, but what if something happened to Claudia, what if—

“Artie.”

He stops, looks at her. She's elegant, in a shimmering green dress and long earrings that glister in the lamplight. _Theda Bara's earrings,_ he thinks in a sudden panic, but no, his eyes would be melting by now. Vanessa is simply a gorgeous, powerful, competent woman who is holding a thick, sturdy collar in one hand, running the fingers of the other hand along a length of nylon rope. 

Cesar Millan's leash.

“Are you ready?” Vanessa asks, and no, Artie's not ready. It's not about being ready; it's about want and need, and, oh, does he want and need this. He's practically salivating. But his eyes dart to his Farnsworth on the bedside table, out of his reach.

Vanessa follows his gaze. “I'll take your calls, Artie.”

“And if it's an emergency?” Artie prompts. There's a static bag on the desk; she could reach it in time. He knows this, but he can't shake the feeling that somewhere, something—

“Artie,” Vanessa says, kindly but firmly. “Sit.”

He wants this, and he trusts her, so he drops to his knees. Slowly—he's not as young as he used to be, and his joints are creaking.

“Look at me,” Vanessa says, and where else could he look but at her feet, where he wants so badly to throw himself, to lie down? At her thumb, slowly, precisely tracing the collar's edge. At her eyes, so far above him, watching him struggle to obey. She holds his gaze there and then steps towards him, and Artie wills himself to stay still as she circles the collar around his neck.

She buckles it just loosely enough, puts a finger in the collar's little ring. Artie swallows, drops his hands to the carpet to steady himself. He could stop this any time, he knows that, but something inside him prays that he won't.

And then comes the leash. There's a short, metallic click as she fastens it, and all at once, he feels it take him over.

The leash doesn't make you submit; you submit because you want to. Because sometimes, in a world filled with threats, comes a woman who knows the burden of your work, and you can trust her—just for a little while—to bear its weight.

Later, she will grab that collar on your neck and make you howl. Later, she'll have you panting and growling, and you'll thank her with gritted teeth. Later still, you'll leave this room, take up your duties once more. But for now, all is simple. There's a collar at your throat and a leash in her hand, and you are here, and you are hers, and for once in your life, you can just. let. go.


End file.
